


The Thirst is Real

by momothespicy (momothesweet)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Biting, Blood Drinking, Bloodplay, Cunnilingus, F/M, Porn With Plot, Reader-Insert, Scratching, vampire!reader, what do you expect you guys it's a vampire au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-28 07:30:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7630789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/momothesweet/pseuds/momothespicy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's something different about you, and Oikawa's going to find out how through a series of mild violence and community.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Thirst is Real

**Author's Note:**

> Commission for [nekosushibot](http://nekosushibot.tumblr.com)!
> 
> This is my first time trying something that deviates a little further from the norm. There might be a little plot than porn to your guys' liking because of that, but hopefully that stuff will be enjoyable to read, as well.
> 
> Have fun!

“Oikawa.”

He doesn’t hear the voice behind him. He’s way too busy looking out the window, across the street where there’s a cart set out in front of a small grocery store next to a butcher shop. Everything from apples to oranges to lemons and dragonfruit fills the cart and are on display for passersby to browse and buy. There isn’t a cloud in the sky today, so the fruit looks extra appealing to healthy eaters and little kids with grabby hands. The cart is colorful and hard to resist, but the most irresistible part about the whole thing is the vendor herself.  

That’s you.

In a straw sun hat and a white, floral dress, you smile and ring up each customer’s pickings. Some only want an apple to snack on while running their errands. Others offer to buy a whole bushel of apricots, which are currently in season. Not that Oikawa knows that. He’s only focused on how beautiful you look presenting different fruits to kids, how you tuck your hair behind your ears, how the sun shines on your skin in all the right places—

“Oikawa!”

Oikawa nearly drops the mug he’s been drying for ten minutes, flinching when Iwaizumi punches him in the arm upon shouting and causing a few of their own customers to look up from their lattes and newspapers. Tearing his eyes away from the window, he pouts, puts the mug down, and flings the towel at Iwaizumi so he can tend to the possible bruise that’ll form close to his shoulder. “You’re so mean,” Oikawa says.

“If you like her that much, why don’t you go talk to her? It’s been three weeks.”

“Has it been that long?!” He feigns surprise, well-aware that he’s been watching her for that long. The cart across the street was managed by some old lady before you came along three weeks ago. That woman was probably nice and sweet, but there’s something about you, besides the fact you’re in his age group, that’s drawing Oikawa (and many customers) in. 

“You’ve been making the black tea lemonade with green tea and your latte art looks shittier than usual,” Iwaizumi huffs.

“Mean!”

Iwaizumi groans, snapping his wrist and whipping the towel to intensify whatever sting he’s already brought on Oikawa’s arm. “Come on, the last time you had that look on your face, you were binge-watching the new season of  _ Space Predators _ .”

“But Iwa-chan,” he whines, stretching himself out over the counter, “she’s so pretty! She’s prettier than that one setter from Karasuno. Remember him?”

A beat follows. “Kageyama?”

Oikawa grits his teeth and smacks him, too.

 

Their shift goes well into the evening, long after people desire to have sugary iced coffees and infused teas. You closed up shop a few hours beforehand, pushing the cart back inside the grocery store after the workers from the butcher shop next door helped bring the leftover baskets of fruit inside. For you, it’s another successful day of fruit sales. The traffic was steady and Oikawa can only imagine the ridiculous amount of comments you received for your smile and for your seemingly friendly disposition. He throws off his apron and clocks out, half-heartedly waving goodbye to Iwaizumi and the rest of the staff. It’s dark out, but he’s never worried about creepy muggers or unsavory folk approaching him. This part of town is a little nicer than that.

That’s all good and settled into his mind until Oikawa’s yanked into the alley by large, strong hands and thrown to the ground, his back slamming into a dumpster before he slumps down. The pain radiates throughout his body and before he can get on his feet, he’s knocked back down with a hard hook to the gut, knocking the wind out of him. If this didn’t feel like the worst pain he’s felt since his knee problems in high school, he could have taken on these guys. Two of them have the frame of the lamp post at the open end of the alley, while the other has the build of Iwaizumi, who he could easily take down with a few good hits. Oikawa’s ready to offer up his wallet and phone but freezes when he hears growling.  _ Loud _ growling.

He’s heard stories in the coffee shop. They all seem like hooey in spite of his interest and total belief in the extraterrestrial. The recent, steady increase in murders throughout the country all seem like a huge coincidence. Wrong place at the wrong time, that kind of stuff. Most of them take place in Tokyo, anyway, where there’s a lot more people to kill. That’s not to say Sendai has had its share of mysterious cases; because they’re few and far between, Oikawa never seems to care for them or the supposed nerd conspirators who chug ice-blended drinks with a ton of whipped cream. He might start to care now.

“He looks tasty,” one of the skinny ones say.

“Doesn’t matter if he looks tasty,” says the bigger one. His voice is rugged, and in the dim lights of the alley he can make out a grin that exposes fangs. “Blood is blood, and we gotta eat. Ain’t that right, boys?”

This can’t be real, Oikawa thinks. He’s got more of a life to live and like hell is he going to die at the hands of...well. His brain screams at him to run, but the rest of his body feels like it’s pinned to the ground, ready for crude consumption.

Then the numbness goes away by a sliver when he hears another voice. A softer, more feminine voice, but with enough volume and command to get everyone’s attention. “You three aren’t from around here, are you?”

The men turn around, met with someone else at that opening. Oikawa’s escape. His only escape. He gulps.

The big one laughs. “You seem like a Tokyo girl yourself, pretty lady. Me and my boys are about to have a snack. Care to join us? He seems like your type.”

Oikawa can’t see the figure approaching them. He only prays that this girl has some sort of mercy, some sort of conscience that’ll keep him alive.

Your face still glows in the light once it hits it and Oikawa doesn’t know how to feel. Is that why you’re so beautiful? Is that what vampirism does? The answer to the latter is probably a no; the three others around him aren’t quite the lookers. He shifts his eyes up to the sky, looking for whatever deity to pray to and beg that he’ll be spared. Maybe you’re one of the good vampires. The ones in those bad books who sparkle in the sunlight and have super strength, those kinds.

Oikawa’s prayers are answered when you step in between the men, pulling him up so that his arm is around your shoulder and he’s leaning into your side. You’re still in your dress, which will probably be dirtied up from the roughhousing, but Oikawa has never been so relieved. 

“This one is mine,” you say. There’s a look on your face that makes the other men annoyed and sympathetic at the same time. “Go visit the butcher shop two blocks away from here. Ask for Morinozuka. He can get you something to eat.”

“For free?” the other skinny one asks.

“It’s enough for a few days,” you reply, slowly making your way through the men with Oikawa. “After that you’re on your own. But don’t go off and start doing this shit. Sendai’s a peaceful city. Troublemakers like you will bring more of your kind from Tokyo.”

Questions and assumptions rush in different directions of his head, masking some of the pain when he walks with you. They’re back on the sidewalk while the large one screams at the two of them, “ _ Our _ kind?! You’re one of us, sweetheart! Own up to it!”

You roll your eyes and walk faster. Luckily, Oikawa’s legs aren’t too shaken from the whole ordeal. But a part of him is still terrified that this will be the last night he gets to look up at the stars.

 

The walk is quiet, save for a quick “are you okay.” He is if he doesn’t think about the ache that settles in his back and the nasty bruise that’ll actually form under his chest, as opposed to Iwaizumi’s punch from earlier. You, however, still look flawless when you assist him. Without the hat on, your hair falls seamlessly down your face; it looks silky and soft to the touch. He’s about to ask about your hair routine but stops himself when they pass by the closed coffee shop and the grocery store, then the butcher shop. They must have taken the long way around in case those three happened to stop by.

Oikawa had no idea that there were several apartments above the shops. He and you end up in what’s likely the biggest apartment in the hall, a wide open space with large, covered windows. It’s a busy night—two of the burly butchers Oikawa recognizes when they sometimes come into the shop lounge on the couch playing video games. Another woman your age (if that’s really your age, he thinks) sits sideways in a chair, adjusting her headphones connecting to her phone. Presumably, she’s blasting music to drown out the butchers’ cries and whoops over a successful mission. A little girl at the coffee table between the TV and the couch is occupied with a coloring book. Steam comes out of the kitchen and he can see the old lady who used to work the fruit cart pouring what looks and smells like coffee.

When you walk in with him, everyone shoots up from what they’re doing and stares immediately at Oikawa. Oikawa can feel his stomach drop to his bladder.

“There were outsiders,” you explain before anyone opens their mouths, “from Tokyo. He’s hurt. Where’s Mori-san?”

“I’m right here.” An older gentleman enters through the front door, as well, smiling warmly and standing next to Oikawa. He says your name with conviction, with an effect that you immediately makes you stand up straight. Everyone diverts their gaze to him, then back at Oikawa. Morinozuka looks at him, too. “Ah, you’re the boy from the coffee shop across the street. Ran into some Tokyo folk tonight, I see?”

Oikawa feels the need to stand up straight, too, even if it feels like a thousand needles piercing his back. His head starts to spin at the realization that this man recognizes him. It feels like all of them do. “Yes, sir,” he says. “I’m Oikawa Tooru.”

“Good evening, Oikawa Tooru. I’m Morinozuka. I see you’ve met our newest fruit vendor.”

You smile at him, letting him go and telling him your name. If he wasn’t too dumbstruck by tonight’s events and didn’t have seven pairs of eyes on him, he would have found your name said at that moment to be the best thing he’s ever heard.

Everyone else introduces themselves, some a little more reluctant than others while Morinozuka shuffles to the kitchen to fix his coffee next to the old lady. The little girl, who goes by Kana, hops up to Oikawa and holds up her coloring book to a picture of an alien in a UFO.

“Rei-chan says aliens are green, but I think they’re blue. Blue is a cuter color. Don’t they look cuter blue?”

Not one to deny answering a question from a child,  _ especially _ one regarding aliens, Oikawa kneels so he can meet her eyes directly and look at the picture again. He still feels tender but his wide smile makes it look like he’d just been on a leisurely stroll. “Hmm. Sure, blue is cute, but lots of the experts and  _ I _ think they’re gray.”

Kana frowns. “Eww. That’s an ugly color.”

You laugh, patting Kana’s head and tapping Oikawa’s shoulder to come back up before he hurts himself some more. Oikawa could kneel there forever talking to Kana about the technicalities of alien appearance if it means hearing you laugh again.

 

“Fujioka-san’s one, too?!”

You nod, drinking your hot beverage of choice and wrapping your fingers around the cup. Tonight’s cooler than normal for springtime, so you sport a light sweater that stretches out to cover most of your fingers. Oikawa’s heart beats double time every time you tap your fingers and giggle when another pang of shock about the city and the people hits him.

A couple of weeks have passed since the alley incident, and Oikawa’s been sworn to secrecy about the existence of your kind in Sendai. Morinozuka is one of the seven elders throughout the city who watch over the vampires. Amongst the million that live here, there is only a handful of those who regularly need blood for food. Though a few have slipped through the cracks and lost control, hence the news about the murders in their city, everything is much more organized than Oikawa expected. It was a lot of information to take in that night he got sucked into this realization, but everyone was kind and friendly enough that he now sends his greetings to them before work at the coffee shop. He’s fully recovered from his mugging, too.

This news about the coffee shop owner, Fujioka, has him cocking his head to the side and staring at you more curiously. He’s made time between work breaks to come and visit you and to answer all of his questions. This is the first time he’s been to your apartment. It’s small and comfortable, a few doors down from Morinozuka’s loft. Apparently, the coffee shop owner is the daughter of one of the other elders who manage the Sendai vampires. You tell him she makes the best tea infused with blood. Oikawa tries to look unfazed by the factoid. 

“What about Iwa-chan?” he asks.

You raise an eyebrow. “Who?”

He pouts. “Nevermind. So...how long have you been one?”

His question makes you pause, an uneasy tension beginning to fill the room. Oikawa’s stomach turns, unsure if this isn’t the right time to ask that, or if it isn’t appropriate to ask that at all. Most of his questions so far have been in regards to the city and the others around, not so much about yourself. Iwaizumi was (sort of) right about him; he may have all the charm to draw in all the girls he wants, but opening his mouth is a giant hit or miss. Mostly miss. 

“Sorry,” Oikawa blurts, not wanting to let you be one of the others so turned off by him in spite of what he has to offer. “I didn’t—”

“Not long,” you answer coolly. You turn your head slightly to avoid eye contact with him, downing the rest of your drink and setting your cup aside. “About six months. I’m one of the ‘youngest,’ I suppose.”

You’re ready to go on but you stop, composing yourself and tucking your hair behind your ear. Oikawa takes note of how you look right now. It’s the first time he’s ever seen you shaken. Not shaken like how other people look like they’re about to break down and cry, but you’re clearly caught off-guard by his question and you still can’t look at him.

“Did it hurt?” Oikawa asks carefully.

Your laugh is more of a huff out your nose, your smile hidden when you shake your head. Oikawa knows you’re smart enough to figure out that he’s trying to be more sympathetic. It seems to work. Maybe.

 “Nothing felt different when I woke up the morning after it happened. And then...I got hungry. Really hungry.” That smile becomes a wide grin, turning back to Oikawa and laughing. Oikawa scoots back a bit on the couch, forcing laughter with her. 

“Oh man,” you continue, “we stole so much blood that morning. I felt really bad afterward. We were lucky Mori-san was in a good mood when he caught us.”

Oikawa leans forward, still confused. “Wait, so you  _ don’t _ have some sad, scary backstory? Like all those books and movies?”

You shake your head, still laughing. “No. It was all an accident. Rei and I got very drunk and...well, she bit me.”

Your smile fades, a look a with a touch of somberness grazed across your face. Oikawa figures that there are more downsides to being a vampire than upsides, so he holds off on any more remarks that will turn her away. He goes for something reassuring, instead. “Well. For a six-month-old vampire, you look like you haven’t aged a day.”

You snort. Oikawa finds success in that since you tell him you’ve never done that before.

 

A blooming bond in the spring grows bigger in the summer when the streets become busier with kids and teenagers exploring the city. The drinks ordered in the coffee shop require more ice while the vampires around slather more sunscreen on to protect their sensitive skin. Oikawa’s noticeably more chipper (and more annoying, in Iwaizumi’s opinion) in spite of the sixteen-year-olds demanding contradictory, complicated drinks. Iwaizumi congratulates him on finally dating you, especially after he told his story about how you saved him from being robbed at gunpoint, which is a fitting substitute for what really happened.

Across the street, you glow more than ever. With some of your senses heightened because of your condition, you can always spot Oikawa through the window of the coffee shop, sending your hellos and catching his cheesy, blown kisses. That side of the street feels friendlier, more cheery since Oikawa’s gotten your attention. Or, perhaps, that’s just Oikawa basking in the bliss of summer love.

The first time Oikawa stays over, it’s tame. He litters kisses all over your body, hands roaming wherever you allow him to. Your skin is soft, he says when he cuddles you, not rigid or cold like all those books or old tales he knew of growing up. He can see the tiny, faint bite marks on your forearm that resemble moles if he didn’t look any closer. You squeak when he pokes them. It’s cute. Oikawa doesn’t rush things. He likes kissing you and playing with your hair while you do the same, lying around in your apartment or his when it’s too warm or too bright to have a date outside. You like it, too.

As the weather gets hotter, so does the relationship. Little waves between you two across the street transition to Oikawa blatantly licking whipped cream between his fingers and you eating a whole banana in one bite. Some of the dresses you wear for work are tighter and/or shorter than others. Makeout sessions come more often and more heated during breaks and out of work. At one point, Oikawa almost puts his hand down your shorts in the back room of the coffee shop, only to be caught by Fujioka. You’re both subject to a scolding by your respective bosses, strongly urging you two to save the antics for the bedroom if you want to keep your jobs.

And you both do. It’s supposed to be a regular night in, Oikawa mindlessly kissing you in your bedroom while you arch up into his touch, his hands smoothing down your figure and squeezing you in all the right places to make you hum into his mouth. Your lips are as soft as his and the both of you have definitely spent spa dates together to make sure the both of you maintain clean skin and plush, full lips. When he kisses you deeper, you start to moan. Soft sounds enter his mouth as both your tongues slide together, your hands finding their way up his shirt to gently scratch his back. You’ve told him before how you like the way he shudders when he does that. Why? He always bites your lower lip at the same time. It’s not purposeful, he says, but you beg to differ.

What happens after that is always the same, too—you both rip your clothes off and fuck like animals. Almost. For obvious reasons, you don’t bite him. When the mood really strikes and you don’t want to piss off the butchers next door with your screaming (which is almost every time the two of you have had sex), you opt for sinking your teeth down on a pillow next to you. Or the sheets. Or your own arm. Oikawa would watch with fascination and post-sex adoration when you lick the blood that drips down. He’ll have to make it a point to ask you what your blood tastes like, but right now, he wants to taste something else.

Oikawa doesn’t know how his and your clothes came off so fast. What matters now is that you’re both bare in bed and he’s already kissing your neck and your collarbones and between your breasts. You scratch harder when he latches onto a nipple, biting softly and licking while one of his hands squeezes your other breast. Your moans put his brain into overdrive, wanting nothing but you and everything about you. 

Your breasts occupy him for a fair amount of time, but he begins to grow hungrier for more. Soaked from the squeezing and sucking, your legs splay open and he eagerly takes the invite to eat you out. Oikawa greedily licks your pussy, hooking his arms beneath your thighs and pressing your hips down because he knows how much you like to squirm. Tasting you is like tasting heaven every time, each lick sweeter as you moan louder and tug his hair for more. The sweetest is your clit. Oikawa flicks the tip of his tongue over it, making you shake and twitch and bring your legs together to trap him between your thighs. His cock twitches when you do this, rubbing against the mattress while he alternates between paying attention to your clit and slipping his tongue inside you.

“Tooru,” you moan, grip tightening in his brown locks.

If he could, Oikawa would say your name back at you, but he’s too busy slowly tongue-fucking you until your back arches and you’re that much closer to coming. He presses as deeply as he can inside, twisting and turning and trying to find your gspot while one finger reaches your clit to press it and rub it in tight, quick circles. It takes one little graze of that spot inside and the continued stimulation of your clit to have you spilling onto his tongue, crying his name as you cross your legs on his back and press your ankles into him. His scalp is on fire when you pull mercilessly, rocking his face into your pussy until you’ve had your fill of your first orgasm for tonight. 

A few moments pass before you release Oikawa from your legs and your grip, his hair disheveled and his chin glistening with your release. He sits on his knees and wipes his face clean, smirking while you smile back. His cock drips precome over your belly and you whine softly.

“You’re not done yet,” you say. 

“I know that.” His eyes darken and he suddenly hovers over you, craving to feel that tight, wet heat from the inside. 

Grabbing onto your hips, he shoves his cock in you in one rough motion. It makes you cry his name, muscles tensing for a second then calming down. That calm doesn’t last long. Oikawa starts moving in deep, slow thrusts, rocking the bed each time as he moans your name. You wrap your legs around him again, nails returning to his back to make its marks in long, vertical strokes. They become harder when he opens his mouth and drops it onto your neck, biting where he kissed hard to make you cry louder.

“Tooru, fuck—”

Your nails dig so deeply into his skin that he starts to draw blood, little droplets forming at the scratches and a few gashes that can offer more to her liking. Oikawa winces slightly from the pain, but he catches his breath when he releases his teeth and pants in your ear.

“Taste me,” he says. 

He can’t see your reaction from where he’s position, but he’s sure you’re wide-eyed because you know he doesn’t mean sucking his cock. They’ve never done anything with blood before; Oikawa’s done the biting, you do the scratching. Neither of you makes the move to play with it for, again, obvious reasons, but there’s a gear in Oikawa’s head that’s turning rapidly so that he’s driven to be more curious and experimental, not so much thinking about any consequences. Moving to confirm your surprise, he slows his thrusts as you turn your head to look back at him.

“I want you to,” Tooru says when you don’t seem like you can form words at the moment. “I’m all yours. Tell me what I taste like.”

By now, Oikawa’s hips are still. You slowly, hesitantly wipe your middle finger up one scratch. It makes him shudder all over again. In turn, he can feel his cock become drenched with how impossibly wet you’ve become. There’s only a small amount of blood on your finger, enough to thinly coat the pad that forms your fingerprint. With eyes locked on each other, you bring your fingertip to your nose, first, for a slow inhale.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head and you arch up, moaning as you suck your finger clean while he watches with as much awe as when he watches you taste your own blood. He gets even more of a kick when he feels you tighten around him. Oikawa remembers you saying something about how human blood tastes exponentially different from animal blood, which you usually thrive on like other vampires around. The luxury of his blood on your tongue makes him proud in some strange, erotic way. His eyes fall half-lidded and he sighs softly, coming back down to your ear to nip the cartilage.

“Do I taste good, sweetheart?”

“You’re fucking delicious,” you say, taking another swipe of blood from his back and sucking your fingers audibly. “Fuck me, Tooru. Please, baby.”

Oikawa lingers at your ear, still prideful that he’s a delicacy who belongs only to you. Starting up once again, he teases, barely moving inside of you and he knows you aren’t having it. It’s to the point when you grab him by the hair again, ripping him from your ear to stare him down. It’s your turn to look hungry, licking your lips and speaking so quietly.

“Fuck. Me.”

He presses one of your hips at his tightest so he can give you what you want, drilling his cock harder and faster and hitting your gspot once again. Your nails latch onto his shoulders, digging there and piercing more skin as he groans, getting closer to his own orgasm. His other hand disappears between you two, rubbing your swollen, overstimulated clit.

It’s too much for the both of you. With one slam of his hips, you scream so loudly it’s more of a snarl, mouth open wide and baring your fangs. Oikawa revels in them until they disappear and you angle your head so that you sink them down on his neck, biting hard while you draw more blood from his shoulders and come without abandon. 

Somehow, that only spurs Oikawa on. His mind is gone when he comes, burying himself as deeply as he can inside of you to release and bask in the pain inflicted upon him. There’s a steady pulse on his neck, your lips on his skin as you take your fill. Oikawa doesn’t realize what’s going on until he finishes coming, eyes snapping open and his hands loosening in an instant as he says your name.

You’ve said in your stories before about the disadvantages of being a vampire, but Oikawa’s far too gone from the sex to think about it. You get that realization, too, when you retract and gasp for air, chest heaving and the corner of your mouth dripping with red down to your chin. It’s an uneasy quiet for a moment, like nobody is sure how to feel about what just happened.

“Tooru,” you say, looking ready to cry. “I—”

Oikawa shakes his head, leaning down to kiss you deeply. His own blood still tastes metallic and a bit salty, but perhaps in the morning that’ll be different. Or, if he tries someone else’s blood. It takes a moment before you kiss back, wrapping your arms around him and relaxing onto the bed.

“We can figure it out,” Oikawa says against your lips, “but I think I’d like to have my fill, too, before I get hungry in the morning.”

The both of you look into each other’s eyes, devoted and loving and more intimate than you two have ever been. Oikawa pulls out slowly before you give him one more kiss then bare your neck to him, already blemished with his own little bites and bruises. Something stirs in Oikawa’s stomach, then a tingling sensation takes over his teeth. When he opens his mouth and runs his tongue over the top, he gasps when he feels sharper tips in two molars. You peek over at him and smile.

“They look good on you,” you say, laughing. “Come on, baby. Taste me, too.”

Oikawa takes a deep breath, wondering the best place to bite you then going right for it. He aims for the middle of your neck in a spot that isn’t reddened or marked. You flinch for a second then moan, Oikawa getting a feel for sinking his teeth down and letting the blood fill his mouth.

He understands now. The taste isn’t too different, still mineraly, but on his tongue it reacts as if the most delicious meal has entered and glided down his throat, sending waves throughout his body similar to when he fucks you. He moans when you moan, too, drinking slowly then pulling back so that his mouth is a mess just like yours. He grins.

“I think I’m going to like this,” he says, licking his lips and reaching to swipe up the drops that fall from his punctures on your neck. 

“You already have the looks for it.” You reach up and clean up his mouth, sucking your fingers and smirking. As you squirm slightly under him, arching up, you moan, “You now have the stamina, too.”

Oikawa’s eyes widen, hands coming up to squeeze your breasts. Heat begins to brew once more in his body, a newfound, revitalizing energy coursing through him. “Do I?”

You reach down and curl your fingers around his cock, nodding and pressing into his hands. Only a few strokes and he’s already twitching for more.

Tonight won’t be over for a while.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments, kudos, suggestions, and kobe beef are always appreciated <3
> 
>  
> 
> [Tumblr ](http://shoujomomo.tumblr.com) | [ Twitter ](http://twitter.com/iwaizumiii)


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